


Certified Pistachio

by Blue M Hart (ThePreciousHeart)



Category: Wayne's World (1992)
Genre: Best Friends, Cleaning, Community Service, Concerts, Conversations, Friendship, Gen, Music, Other, Post-Canon, Relationship Advice, Slice of Life, shippy ending if you want to read it that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/Blue%20M%20Hart
Summary: Wayne and Garth chat about the women in their lives while cleaning up Stevenson Park after the inaugural Waynestock festival.
Relationships: Garth Algar & Wayne Campbell
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Certified Pistachio

**Author's Note:**

> I resisted writing this for a while since it felt too thematically similar to my other piece "More to Life," but the more I thought about Garth's subplot in Wayne's World 2, the more it irritated me, so I had to get this off my chest. Pretty hastily edited; any feedback is appreciated.
> 
> Update 1/11/21: I changed a bit of dialogue. Any re-readers are not "going mental" as Wayne would say.

_What do you get when you cross ten rockin’ bands, about five thousand tripped-out fans, and a crew of eleven to corral them all?_

If the aftermath of Waynestock was anything to believe, the answer was _a giant freakin’ mess._ Garbage lay strewn all over the Stevenson Park playing fields, from plastic bags to food wrappers to a few unfortunate sunglasses and flops that had lost their flip. On any other day, the sight would have overwhelmed Garth. It was up to him and Wayne to perform the monumental task of getting the field to look the way it had when they’d found it, since everyone else had gone home. But after calling the shots throughout the festival– and unexpectedly enjoying it– what was one more job? Garth and Wayne shared a nod of solidarity, before rolling up their sleeves, grabbing their trash pickers and trash bags, and diving in.

As the sun sunk slowly on the horizon, Wayne talked Garth’s ear off, describing how he’d set in motion his bold plan to rescue Cassandra from her ill-conceived marriage to Bobby Cahn. Some parts sounded suspiciously similar to an old movie Garth had watched once with his parents, and he particularly doubted that Wayne had hitched a ride back on the bus, considering he’d returned with Cassandra in the car in which he’d driven off. However, Wayne’s embellishments made for a better, more enjoyable story. Even though Garth couldn’t always tell when Wayne was being sincere and when he was bullshitting.

“Are you gonna marry Cassandra now?” he asked once Wayne’s story was finished, since the part about the wedding seemed the most likely to be true.

“What?” Wayne laughed. “Are you mental? Marriage is for dopes.”

“But…” Garth puzzled over Wayne’s story, trying to figure out why that didn’t seem right. Hadn’t Wayne said something about… “How come she wanted to marry Bobby?”

“She didn’t _want_ to marry Bobby,” Wayne explained patiently. “That was something her dad set up. He wanted her to get married so she’d have security, see?”

“Maybe you _should_ marry her,” Garth blurted. It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Cassandra would get to be a permanent US resident and stay in Aurora with her band… and maybe Wayne wouldn’t worry so much about seeing her with other guys, if he knew she was committed to him. Then again, Garth only had a single relationship to his name, and he was still scratching his head over that one, so what did he know?

Wayne shrugged. “We shall see, my friend. We shall see.”

Garth nodded. That was the way it went sometimes. Like when he’d had to wait a bogusly long amount of time for his _Sports Illustrated_ phone to arrive in the mail. Even though there was nothing on Earth he’d wanted as much as that phone, he had to grin and bear it, and eventually things had worked out all right. Hopefully things would work out all right for Wayne and Cassandra as well.

“Speaking of women…” Wayne plunged his trash picker into the ground and leaned against it, looking Garth square in the eyes. The setting sun cast a shadow from the brim of his cap across his forehead, which made it impossible for Garth to return his gaze. He tried not to feel unsettled.

“What happened to your woman, Garth? Didn’t she come to the festival?”

_My woman…_ Garth shifted his weight, longing to hide his hands in his pockets, but they were occupied. All day he’d successfully avoided the thought of Honey Hornee, until now. _Hornee? That probably wasn’t even her real name…_

“Oh. Uh.” He wished he could read Wayne’s eyes. “We broke up.”

Wayne made a disbelieving sound with his tongue. “Already?” Garth couldn’t tell if the word was judgmental or sympathetic. He hoped it was the latter.

“Well, we had to break up, on account of her being married.”

Wayne’s eyes grew wide, and he lunged forward, the trash picker clattering to the ground. “She was _married?”_

“Yeah…”

“And you didn’t know?”

“How was I s’posed to know?” Garth exclaimed. “It’s not like she told me or nothing…” Not until it was convenient, anyway. He supposed she’d hidden her ring somewhere so he wouldn’t find it, burned all the wedding photographs. Though maybe she’d already done that, once her husband flipped out on her. If that part of her story was even true. The thought made Garth’s heart skip a beat. Who knew what else she’d lied to him about? Had she ever even _liked_ him?

“Man, that _blows.”_ Now Garth was starting to recognize the familiar notes of sympathy in Wayne’s voice, mixed with his natural inquisitiveness. Usually Garth appreciated that quality, as it meant that Wayne was a careful listener, but sometimes when he felt too pressed for information, he drew back. _Such as right now_. “Her old man find out or something?”

Though Garth felt it was better to keep his mouth shut, lest Wayne think of him as a total idiot, the words rushed out nonetheless. “Shewantedmetokillhim.”

Wayne’s forehead wrinkled, and his bug-eyed stare multiplied. “Ex-squeeze me? A baking powder?” He held his hand up to his ear. “She wanted you to _what_ now?”

“She gave me a gun,” Garth said, wishing the shock would evaporate from Wayne’s face. “I left it outside.” If Honey ever found it… would she get someone else to do her dirty work, or would she take matters into her own hands?

“Wait, wait wait wait.” Wayne traced outward circles in the air. “Garth— how far did you go with her?”

_“Huh?”_ Garth felt like stumbling backwards. “What’s _that_ got to do with—”

“I mean, you weren’t gonna ask her to marry you, were you?” Wayne continued.

Slowly Garth shook his head. Honey Hornee hadn’t seemed like the marrying type, even before he found out she had a psycho husband who she wanted dead. She was more the “take out for a barely-affordable dinner” type. Or the “go over on weekends and do stuff that Garth had only read about in magazines” type.

“We just…” A blush crept up the back of Garth’s neck. Somehow, Honey had made it so easy to talk about these things, but now that she was gone, he was right back to stammering and biting his tongue. “We just made love.”

Wayne nodded, which somehow exacerbated Garth’s awkwardness. This wasn’t something he’d ever discussed with Wayne before. Sure, they drooled over babes together all the time, and with the number of girlfriends Wayne had had, Garth had no doubt his friend had plenty of experience. But Wayne had never shared that experience in detail, and Garth had never asked. Now he wondered if Wayne’s stories could have helped him.

Wayne bent down to pick up his trash picker. “Okay, that’s good. So it wasn’t too serious.”

“It was nice,” Garth said. He didn’t know why he was elaborating, but he felt the need to prove to Wayne that he really had been with this woman. “Kinda scary, but nice.”

Wayne adopted a pointedly confused look, his brow furrowing. “Why scary?”

“You know.” Or _did_ he? The thought of knowing something about seduction that Wayne didn’t made Garth speak more boldly. “When she kept grabbing me, while we were dancing... I liked it better when she wasn’t all over me.” Realizing how lame that sounded, he quickly added, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she got me into bed all right, it's not like I had to fight her off."

“Sh’ _yeah,_ I hope not." Though the words were light, Wayne's concerned frown didn’t disappear. “I mean, she didn’t force you or anything?”

The question brought Garth up short. He wasn’t sure what was weirder– the fact that Wayne had asked it, or the very idea that he _had_ been forced. What a strange description. It seemed much too harsh for what Honey had done, as if she’d whipped out her gun and pointed it at his head. Sure, she’d felt him up a little and said weird things that didn’t make sense, but she’d _had_ to do that, otherwise Garth might have spent the whole night on her couch complaining about the music and that gross drink she’d made for him. Once they’d actually slept together, he’d enjoyed it.

Now that Garth was reflecting on it, though, the discomfort from that first night returned to the pit of his stomach. How terrified he had been to look her in the eye, let alone touch her. How she’d pulled him to his feet to dance when he’d expected to do nothing more than chill out and listen to Megadeth. It occurred to him that he could have said _no, thank you._ Their night hadn’t had to end in bed. But he couldn’t say he wasn’t glad it had happened. At least now he knew what everyone was talking about when it came to women and dating. He hoped he did, anyway.

“I don’t know,” Garth said at last, half-mumbling. “It was weird. _She_ was weird. Maybe we didn’t do it right.” Or maybe he was just trying to make himself feel better about hooking up with a crazy person.

Wayne ripped his hat off and began to fan himself with it. “ _Sheesh,_ you sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Come on.” Wayne pulled his hat back onto his head. “First that donut lady breaks your heart, now this one tries to turn you into a murderer? I mean, it’s clear the chick’s a nut. A certified pistachio, or maybe a cashew. You could chop her up and sprinkle her over an ice cream sundae.”

Garth’s hand clenched around the trash picker. “Shut up! Just shut up! That’s my _girlfriend_ you’re talking—”

He fell silent, amazed at what had just come out of his mouth. _My girlfriend._ But she wasn’t his girlfriend, not anymore.

Garth bit his lip, trying not to feel too dejected. Maybe Honey hadn’t been the perfect woman, but _god_ he was going to miss being able to talk about her. _“Where were you?”_ he’d pictured Wayne asking as he drove home from Honey’s house that first night. _“Oh, I was over at my girlfriend’s.”_ Over and over he’d whispered it to himself, a gleeful sensation shooting through him each time. It wasn’t the sex he’d miss, or the special treatment she’d given him, or the nice house and their random conversations. It was having someone to look after and support, someone who relied on him for protection and made him feel strong and sure. It was the knowledge that someone out there loved him and cared for him, in a way that he thought he’d never experience– and, truly, never _had_ experienced, what with Honey being a fraud.

“Hey, sorry about that.” From the tone of his voice, Garth could tell Wayne’s apology was genuine. “I’m just saying. You deserve someone better, eh? Someone special.”

“You really think I’ll find her?” Garth stated dubiously. So far it seemed he hadn’t had much luck. He’d epically blown his chance with the girl from the donut shop, and Honey Hornee had turned out to be just as nutty as Del Preston. Other than that, he couldn't think of anyone who’d lured him, much less anyone who’d return his feelings. He had to be more careful with women now, considering how easily Honey had played him. Maybe he could introduce them to Wayne before asking them out. He'd had always had a knack, moreso than Garth, for reading between the lines.

“I _know_ you’ll find her.” Wayne grinned. “And I believe she is much closer to you than she appears.”

“Huh? What d’you know?”

“I saw you dancing with that girl.” Wayne’s eyebrows rose. “Billie Jean, or whatever her name is?”

“Oh!” _Betty Jo!_ Already the dance that they’d shared felt like a lifetime ago. There hadn’t been anything special about it, either– she’d followed him up on the platform when Aerosmith was on and they’d rocked together throughout their set. Garth couldn’t even remember if they’d spoken much, before or after. One minute she was there beside him, then he was hustling the next band onto the stage and when he looked back, Betty Jo had fled.

“I like Betty Jo,” Garth said carefully. “She’s cool.” She wasn’t a dead ringer for Kim Basinger, but she also didn’t seem like the type of person who’d jump his bones on the first date. Which was probably for the best. “But, uh… I don’t know if we’re gonna date.” It was too early, too soon after Honey, to be contemplating such things. He had to figure out what he wanted from a relationship first– if it was a relationship he wanted.

Wayne clapped Garth on the back. “Well, if you do, she’s a good place to start.” He hoisted his trash bag over his shoulder and sauntered off, leaving Garth in the dust. Mixed emotions swam through him, gratefulness for Wayne’s understanding warring with his overwhelming self-consciousness. How was it so easy for Wayne to just… accept the way Garth operated? Wasn’t it kind of embarrassing for Wayne that Garth couldn’t seem to crack the secret of dating?

Without meaning to, Garth found himself blurting it out. “You don’t think I’m a total loser if I don’t have a girlfriend?”

Wayne spun around. “Garth, you’ve never been a total loser, and you’ve only had one girlfriend. The two are not mutually exclusive.”

“So… if I want to be cool, I _shouldn’t_ have a girlfriend?”

“No.” Wayne shook his head. “You just won’t be any less cool without one.” Again he drifted away, hunting down a Zagnut wrapper that the breeze had taken ahold of. Again Garth stood in place, marveling over Wayne’s spirit. After nearly five years of friendship, he would have expected to have said something stupid by now, something that would drive Wayne away. But here Wayne was at Garth’s side, putting a positive spin on all the quirks that Garth had never minded until someone pointed out how detracting they were. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve someone like Wayne in his life, and he hoped he never found out.

“Garth!” the subject of his mulling suddenly announced, giving him a sideways, squinty stare. “Hello? You fall asleep standing up?”

Quickly Garth jogged to catch up with Wayne. “D’you the guys have left Mikita’s by now?”

“Dunno,” Wayne said. “Whose house did we agree to go to?”

“Um... Milton’s or Terry’s, I think.” Garth paused to take in the shadowy trees tipped with gold, reaching up towards a salmon-colored sky. “They’re probably hanging without us.”

Wayne whistled. “Hey, good for them, they earned the right to party.”

“You think Del’s gonna be there?” Garth hoisted his trash picker and fumbled with the empty Dorito’s bag he’d snared. _Only a million more pieces of trash left to go._

“If he is, he better bring some of that old school 60’s pot,” said Wayne. “The stuff that was used by Keiths Richards and Moon.”

Garth gulped, seizing the opportunity to tease Wayne. “Are you sure you’re not already on it? I mean, Jim Morrison did come to you in a dream and all.”

The comment startled Wayne into laughter. “Don’t be jealous, Garth. I’ll save some for you.”

Garth shook his head. “I just want some more red rope licorice, if that’s okay.”

“Sure thing.” With that, Wayne bounded off again, chasing down an elusive soda bottle or some crumpled wads of Kleenex. As he watched him, Garth felt a smile bloom on his face. He might have rotten luck in the romance department, but as long as Wayne was his best friend, he knew he’d never need to worry about being loved and cared for again.


End file.
